


oh, but you’re good to me

by theoreticlove



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Finwë’s Mediocre Parenting, Fëanor and Nerdanel Are The Only Hets Ever, Insecurities, rich people suck, self worth issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 03:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticlove/pseuds/theoreticlove
Summary: fëanáro and nerdanel comfort each other in the midst of their insecurities





	oh, but you’re good to me

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from my favourite song on wasteland, baby! by hozier: would that i

Nerdanel had been insulted on her looks before. She knew full well she was not as stunning as the Vanyar, or the dark, clear-skinned members of the Ñoldorin nobility, but on most occasions it did not bother her. She had other things to worry about than conforming to society’s views on how a proper lady should look. She was certainly not about to put her hair up in a style that would cause her a headache in a few hours, nor wear a tight dress when she is working on her sculptures. No, such things were of no importance to her.

But that was before Fëanáro. Before she had fallen in love and been swept into court life. Before she spent her time with rich noblewomen who looked a million times better in their silk dresses and diamond necklaces than she ever had. Before insults became not only digs at her, but digs at Fëanáro’s ‘questionable’ taste in women. 

_“Her hair looks like cheap copper wires.”_

_“Have you seen those freckles? Honestly, they’re so ugly, I can’t imagine why his highness hasn’t asked her to cover them up yet.”_

_“But of course, you must remember that the prince apparently has very... questionable taste in women. Why he picked one with such a muscular figure, I’ll never know. She practically looks like a man!”_

_“By Eru, I hope this is a passing whim of his. I can’t imagine what would happen if he married her. What a disaster!”_

_“Imagine us, socialising with her! Think of our reputations!”_

Needless to say, words had power. And Nerdanel was feeling their effect viciously. Viciously enough that she was currently wiping tears from her eyes, weeping in front of a mirror in her bedroom, where she made note of everything wrong with her appearance. 

How was she ever meant to fit in at court? To be one of the ladies of Tirion, to be a princess of all things? But then, Fëanáro hadn’t actually proposed yet.

Perhaps she was a passing whim. Everyone knew how quickly he moved from one project in his forge to the next. Who was to say he wouldn’t do the same with people? And... if everyone’s words were true, surely he wouldn’t want to have his name associated with hers for much longer. 

A knock on the door of Nerdanel’s bedroom startled her out of her thoughts. 

“Yes?” She called weakly, frantically wiping at tears and praying the tear stains that seemed so prominent on her face weren’t actually so. 

“‘Danel, are you all right?” Fëanáro called. “I let myself in, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Yes, of course, I’m fine,” she said, although the cracks in her voice said otherwise. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to take you out to lunch, remember? Are you- are you crying?”

“What? No, of course not, I just- I just,” she began, tears brimming in her eyes again. She didn’t want Fëanáro to see her so upset, but the tears didn’t seem like they wanted to stop.

“Nerdanel, can I come in?” He asked. His voice was so heavy with concern that she let out a sob, and with a shaking hand she opened the door.

“Hi,” she choked out, forcing herself to smile, to not look like such a wreck. 

Fëanáro’s face melted with sympathy, and she had just enough time to notice him putting a bouquet of flowers down on the vanity before he wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly, and she nodded weakly, breaths shaky as she cried into his shoulder. 

“‘M sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be, love. Do you want to talk about it?” He offered. 

She shook her head. Maybe when she was less upset, she would bring it up, but she really didn’t want to begin the conversation.

“Okay,” he whispered, and he kissed the top of her head. “You have such lovely hair. It glows, you know, in the right lighting. It’s like fire. It matches, you know. Makes us match. Spirit of fire and you with your fire-like hair.” 

Nerdanel cried harder. 

“I’m sorry, love. I thought... oh, I don’t know what I thought. Should I stop talking?” 

Nerdanel pulled away from Fëanáro, hands coming up to wipe tears from her face. 

“Maybe. I don’t... I don’t really know what I want right now,” she admitted. 

“Well, I don’t think going out is really on the table right now,” he said. “I know... after I’ve been crying, I’m always rather tired. Would you prefer going to bed, and I’ll get you a glass of water and then I can leave and you can sleep?” He suggested.

The prospect of sleeping sounded very good. So did the glass of water.

“Okay,” she said. He nodded in return, stepping out of the room.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

“You know where everything is?”

“Of course, love. I’ve been to your home plenty enough times to know where the cups are. I even know that you prefer the taller glasses, you know, the ones that are narrower, instead of the short, fat ones.”

She laughed, and he smiled at the sound before disappearing from the doorway. She flopped into bed, figuring her current clothes were comfortable enough to sleep in, now extremely drowsy in the warm light of the sun.

Fëanáro returned shortly, as promised, bringing a tall and narrow glass of water to her bedside table. He stopped as he put it down, staring at Nerdanel with his lips open slightly.

“What?” She asked. Was something wrong? 

“Nothing,” he replied.

“No, you were staring at me! Why?” She asked, nervousness showing as she pronounced the last word.

“I just think you look beautiful, is all,” he said. 

“Oh.”

Nerdanel turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Nerdanel, won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Or at least, why you aren’t accepting my compliments? I compliment your hair and you cry harder, I tell you you’re beautiful and you refuse to look at me, and I’m worried, because I love complimenting you!” He said. 

“Your compliments, however, seem to be strongly out of line with the views of everyone else.” 

“What? Have people been insulting you? Is that what this is about?” 

She turned to face Fëanáro again, tears filling her eyes once again. 

“Oh, my dear, dear love, you must know that I am firm in my belief that you are the loveliest person I have ever seen,” he said, reaching to caress her face.

“They said- they say my freckles ought to be covered up, that they wonder how you put up with me at all with how ugly I am. That I- that I am just a passing whim of yours, and even if I am not, I will never fit in at court and they are right, Fëanáro. I am not- I am not beautiful like the ladies of the nobility.”

“They are not right. Perhaps you do not have black hair with diamonds studded in it, but you do not need that to be beautiful. Your freckles are like the stars of Varda interposed on your skin, and I could spend hours counting them, staring at your face. And your eyes shine so brightly when you are excited, or happy, and it makes me want to kiss you senseless. I have already complimented your hair. And your arms! They are so strong. I remember the first time I was upset in your presence and you wrapped me in a hug and I felt so safe.

Even if you were not beautiful, however, it would not make me love you any less. I love you not only for looks, but for your passion, and your creativity, and your spirit. You are, in the grand scheme of things, perfect.

Nor are you a passing whim! I am in love with you! If you were to leave me my heart should break and I would fade from this earth! Besides, when I marry you- and trust me, I do intend on proposing, what the current nobility thinks will not matter, because they will no longer be the nobility. Because as soon as I find out who told you these terrible things, they will be dismissed, their titles removed. I do not care if they are a viscount, a countess, a marquess! I do not care for anyone who makes my love cry.”

It did not take long for Nerdanel to sit up and kiss him. He was so kind- so good and sweet. She wondered at how she could have doubted his affection, for he spoke so passionately about her that she felt no doubt in her mind that he loved her, just as she loved him.

Insults, she decided, would no longer bother her. Not when she had Fëanáro to deliver compliments that were a million times more true.

***

Fëanáro lay awake, in what was either the late hours of the night or the very early hours of the morning. He could not sleep, and doubted he would be able to, but Nerdanel lay beside him, eyes shut, so he dared not go to the forge to tire himself out.

This was not the first time he and Nerdanel had shared a bed, although they were not married. Neither one wanted to officially become married before a ceremony was performed, so they saw no harm in sharing a bedroom. 

With his love beside him or not, however, he still could not sleep. Thoughts danced in his mind, of how inadequate he was. Of course his father had remarried and decided to have more children. There was no doubt that he was not good enough. Finwë was continuously unimpressed with him, no matter his efforts. 

No, it was Ñolofinwë this, or Arafinwë that. Even when they were last at court, Finwë had been busy praising Indis’ children, and had hardly spared a word for Fëanáro, who had been sitting right next to him. He could replay the conversation in his mind all night.

_“Yes, and so Ñolofinwë has recently become incredibly talented at drawing up legislation, and the new proposal on my desk was actually taken from an idea he had! Such a brilliant boy.”_

_“Yes, indeed, Your Majesty,” had said his father’s chief advisor. “And the Crown Prince has also done quite well, practically inventing a whole new dictionary full of legislative terms for us to use!”_

_“Yes, Fëanáro has done well for himself, but have I mentioned how Ñolofinwë...”_

It hurt. Perhaps if it had been an isolated event, it would have stung less to see his father dismiss his achievements. But such similar occurrences had been happening for months. Finwë hardly even had time to speak with Fëanáro anymore, always busy doing something with his younger children. It was as Fëanáro had feared when Ñolofinwë had been born; that his father would replace him with his brother, or even now, brothers. He was no longer important to Finwë.

He did not realise he was crying until he tasted salt from his tears on his lips. His breath hitched, and he did his best to control his sobs, to quiet them so as to not wake Nerdanel.

“Darling?” Nerdanel mumbled, turning over to face him. Mission failed, apparently. How guilty he felt, for interrupting her sleep. 

“Go back to sleep, love,” he said, offering her a weak smile. She frowned as she noticed the tears on his face, propping herself up on her elbow to see him better.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, reaching out to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. 

“Nothing, I’m okay,” he said, trying to convey a truthful tone. He could not bring himself to smile. 

“Don’t lie to me, Fëanáro. You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you, but come here,” she said, pulling him over and wrapping him in a hug. He sobbed involuntarily into her shoulder, shaking in her arms. 

“Shh, it’s alright. Everything’s going to be alright,” Nerdanel reassured him, running a hand up and down his back. 

“How come he doesn’t- why am I not- why am I not good enough for him?” He sobbed, tears streaming down his face. He had not planned on confessing his hurt to her, but his mouth had always been faster than his mind.

“Not good enough for who, darling?” Nerdanel asked, gentle as always.

“My father,” he cried.

“What? But that’s not true, Fëanáro. Your father loves you so much, so so much. You are so important to him, you must know that,” she said, using the tone of someone who truly wanted to believe that what they were saying was true, but weren’t entirely convinced. 

“It doesn’t feel like it. It’s Ñolofinwë this and Arafinwë that and he’s always doing everything with them and it’s been going on for months and I don’t know what I did wrong for him to be avoiding me at every chance he gets, ‘Danel,” he sobbed. He clung to Nerdanel, seeking comfort as his breath hitched.

“Hey... shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, darling. I’m sure your father has a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything, okay? I’m sure it was never, never his intention to hurt you,” she soothed, holding Fëanáro tighter. 

“But what if I’m just not- not good enough for him? If I’m not good enough for- for my own father how am I supposed to be good enough for anyone else?” He wanted to _marry_ Nerdanel. If he wasn’t a good enough son, how could he be a good enough husband? And if he became a father? He did not want any child of his growing up thinking their father was not very good at being one.

“Fëanáro... you are good enough. I promise you, you’re good enough. You’ve done so much, created so much. You’re not yet an adult and you’ve already practically invented a new form of writing. You have the entire population of Tirion wrapped around your finger, not because you’re a prince, but because you are so talented at everything you do that they can’t help but love you. And I love you. You are so good, Fëanáro, so good a person. No matter what your father thinks. You are good enough. And I don’t doubt your father thinks so, too.”

Fëanáro sniffled, taking a deep breath or several in an attempt to get his breathing back under control.

“Thank you,” he whispered, tilting his head so he could kiss Nerdanel’s jawline. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be, darling,” she said, moving to kiss his cheek. “You have nothing to apologise for. In fact, I may be having words with the king come morning, for making you cry so.”

Fëanáro let out a breathless laugh, while also coming to the conclusion that he was absolutely exhausted. He yawned, the first sign of tiredness that he had felt all night.

“Have as many words with him as you like,” he said drowsily, “but for now I am going to sleep.”

Nerdanel kissed his cheek again. 

“Goodnight,” she said. “Sleep well, darling.”

“Goodnight,” he mumbled back, and fell asleep, wrapped in the arms of the love of his life. He was good enough for her, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at midnight and then started crying because fëanor’s insecurities about his self worth kinda hit real close to home so that’s why it’s like 500 words less then nerdanel’s section oops


End file.
